He Made a Different Call
by fandomwhore
Summary: Her green eyes locked with his blue, and she raised her eyebrows expectingly. Silently asking him the same thing he was asking himself, why haven't you shot me yet? - movieverse


Clint could see her clearly. Her red locks were pulled over one shoulder and she had a brush in one hand, dragging it through her hair and pulling out the knots she accumulated from her days hunting.

He had a clear shot and his arrow was already pointed at the spot where her heart would be. As soon as he released the arrow, it would fly through the air, through the window and hit it's target. Of course it would, he wasn't named Hawkeye for no reason.

Yet he couldn't do it. His fingers wouldn't release the arrow, no matter how much prep-talk he mentally gave himself. "Just let go of the damn arrow, Clint," he muttered furiously to himself as he watched his target closely through the window. And, for the first time since Fury had given him the mission, he really got a good look at her.

Black Widow, they called her. Apparently she was deadly, or so her file had said. A master at hand-to-hand combat and skilled with a gun. She was no match for most of the agents at S.H.I.E.L.D, but Clint wasn't just an agent. He was the best. The best of the best. And he would be the undoing of the so-called Black Widow.

Then he noticed something, a slight shift in the way she was sitting. Her back tensed up and her green eyes were locked on something in her mirror. That something was slightly to the left, probably around the spot Clint was stood with his arrow pointed at her.

So, she'd seen him.

No doubt she thought no one would find her here, and Clint had to give her props for finding an excellent hiding place. She had, after all, almost lost him when he trailed her from some nightclub back to the old, decrepit and abandoned, apartment block. And she'd picked a apartment slap bang in the middle of the building. Unfortunately for her, Clint had managed to find the perfect spot in the apartment block opposite. Naturally, he was on the roof, positioned higher then her.

What surprised him, however, was her reaction. She didn't pull out a gun from underneath her desk or instantly hide for cover from his arrow, like he'd expected her two. Instead she stared right at him, her green eyes locked with his blue, and raised her eyebrows expectingly. Silently asking him the same thing he was asking himself, _why haven't you shot me yet?_

Part of him was screaming "just fucking do it already". Shoot the girl, go back to base and receive congrats from Fury. He tightened his grip on the weapon, preparing himself to finally release the arrow.

She simply put the brush down and closed her eyes, waiting for his arrow to pierce her skin and kill her. She was accepting death, and this time that was what made him hesitate.

Why would someone like her, someone who was professional in every sense of the word, accept her death so easily? Why wasn't she fighting him to stay alive, why wasn't she trying to kill him instead?

It made him lower his weapon. His brow furrowed as she stared at the Black Widow through the glass of the apartment window. This woman was deadly, she would kill rather then be killed.

Was this a trick?

Then her eyes popped open, obviously she'd been wondering what was taking so fucking long, and her eyes locked with his. She frowned at him, once again silently asking him a question. _What the hell?_ This look said, _just do it already_.

All of his instincts were screaming at him to stop as he but his arrow back in the quiver. _"You're a dumbass, Clint Barton."_ His brain told him as he replaced his previous arrow with a different one. This time he didn't hesitate to shoot. The arrow hit it's target and he jumped, the rope his arrow released upon impact with the wall keeping him from falling as he smashed through the window of Black Widow's apartment.

"You're either the worst assassin in the world or a complete dumbass."

A groan escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open. There was a pounding in his head that rivalled the hangover he got after a booze filled new year and the wet sensation on his left bicep told him that he was bleeding, there was also probably a shard of glass lodged in there somewhere.

The next thing he noticed was a gun, pointed between his eyes. So she really had tricked him, lured him here to kill him and laugh as she set his dead body on fire.

"Second option, Sweetheart," Clint muttered. She merely rolled her eyes in response and pulled her gun away, storing it in a holder on her thigh.

"Why didn't you do it?"

Clint rolled his eyes, she was all about business.

"Why didn't you try to stop me?"

"My job's done."

It was a simple answer but not one he was expecting. He pulled himself to his feet, picked his bow up from here it had fallen, and checked his arm. Nothing too major, the doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D would be able to fix it in no time.

"Look did you want something?" Her voice caused him to pull his attention away from his arm and his thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Then he got an idea. Her job here was done, but that didn't mean she couldn't start a new one.

"I have an idea."

"I'm listening."


End file.
